The Menethil Oathsworn: Curator of Alterac
by VanguardThorne
Summary: The Infinite Dragonflight has been silent since the fall of Murozond in the End Time. But only fools equate silence to inactivity. Harbinger, the new leader of the Infinite, has a plan. And it involves misplacing just a single arrow.
1. Prologue

The Menethil Oathsworn

Prologue: Harbinger

She had forsaken everything for that idiot's 'ingenious' plot to save all of Azeroth. Now, he was nothing but a rotting corpse in a distant reality, and it was the result of his own greed. Murozond had lost the true purpose of the Infinite Dragonflight, renouncing their intentions to save their world in a desperate bid for immortality. She couldn't help but snicker. Murozond was always an idealist, even before he was warped into his darkened, cruel state. And she had sworn herself to his cause… whatever that cause may have been. But he was dead now. And _she_ was leader of the Infinite Dragonflight.

"Harbinger." Her hissing advisor brought her back to the situation before her. Murozond's closest confidants were reluctant to relinquish power over to her following the death of their glorious leader, but they had little say in the matter. "Is there something amusing you'd like to share with us?"

"I'm afraid you would find my humor tasteless, Doramun," Harbinger replied with a hint of venom in her voice. "As for the discussion at hand, I'm afraid you are all quite helpless."

"Pardon?" Zarion growled in surprise. Harbinger couldn't help but smirk.

"You all suffer from the same flaws that Murozond befell. You think that large change is necessary to wrest control of the Timeways from the Bronze Dragonflight." Harbinger stood up and began pacing around her advisers, who were less than thrilled by her accusation. "I believe the humans have a saying for this. The wings of a butterfly can cause a hurricane, yes?"

"Cut the spectacle and speak your mind, Harbinger!" Doramun roared in frustration.

"It's quite simple, really. We don't need to kill Arthas or stop Medivh. It's too overt, Nozdormu will pick up on our movements and send forces to stop us. No, we only need to make a single change, and a small one at that. One that Nozdormu will gloss over as a glitch. And by the time he realizes what we've done, it'll be too late."

"I imagine you've already constructed some kind of plan?" Zarion whispered softly.

"You'd be correct." Harbinger conjured a small sphere of what appeared to be fog that drifted between her and the two confidants. Within the fog was a picture of a man. "This is Darren Artius. He was a human noble paladin who fought alongside Lothar during the Assault on Blackrock Spire. He did not survive."

"And you are suggesting we preserve this man's life? To what end?" Zarion asked, clearly intrigued by what Harbinger was suggesting.

"Darren Artius himself is insignificant. He will go on to become a useless drunk that amounts to nothing. It is his son, Loghain, that I am primarily interested in. When news of Darren's death reached Lordaeron, it inspired Loghain to join the Royal Army. He later perished to the Scourge when Arthas betrayed his father. Wasted potential." The image in the fog began to shift and swirl, revealing the young Loghain standing triumphantly over what appeared to be the ruins of Naxxramas. "With Darren alive, Loghain goes on to become one of the greatest heroes to ever walk this earth. With a bit of luck, perhaps he will lead our forces to stand against the Legion."

"And what makes you so certain that this will work?" Doramun growled. Clearly, he was far more skeptical than his sister.

"I'm not certain." The statement confused Zarion and infuriated Doramun. "You need to stop looking at the Timeways as an absolute that can be controlled. It flows in a fashion that cannot be manipulated. We can only guess its path and hope it benefits us."

"Murozond would never have -" Zarion began, but Harbinger raised a silver talon.

"Murozond is dead, Zarion. You would do well to remember how that happened and avoid making the same mistakes." Harbinger turned towards Doramun, who was a bit shocked after the accusation. "Doramun, you are to notify the Timewalkers of this temporal change and have them come up with some kind of prediction."

"Of course, _Harbinger_ ," Doramun hissed, his voice full of disdain. "I will additionally dispatch an agent to save the life of this… Darren."

"No." The word rang through the halls of the Infinite Redoubt. "I will handle the change myself. If we are to ensure that Nozdormu is to remain oblivious to the change, then this task must be performed flawlessly. I trust no one short of myself to accomplish this."

"As… as you wish," Doramun muttered, hanging his head in defeat. Harbinger couldn't help but grin at the arrogant upstart being put in his place.

"Now leave me. I have much to prepare for." Zarion and Doramun reluctantly agreed, phasing out of existence, leaving Harbinger alone within the Infinite Redoubt. "There's only one… _pest_ I need to take care of."

* * *

"Sir," Darren muttered as they approached the Spire.

"Yes, Sir Artius?" Lothar answered as they advanced forward steadily.

"It's too quiet for my liking," the paladin continued, drawing his hammer. "The scouts said this place was crawling with orcs mere days ago. Where are the bloody green skins?"

"I've been asking myself that question for about an hour, Darren," Lothar replied with a smirk. "If every instinct says ambush, then it is safe to wager that's exactly what we're walking into." Darren looked at Lothar with confusion.

"Then why exactly are we willingly walking towards an ambush, sir?"

"Because it's only an ambush if you don't know it's there, Sir Artius," Lothar answered the paladin's incessant question, and then immediately called forth his trusted lieutenant, Turalyon. "Turalyon, ensure everyone is on high alert. I expect combat shortly."

"As you wish, Commander," Turalyon bowed slightly, and turned towards the rear of their advancing army. He didn't get far before a savage war cry rang through the valley they were marching through. Darren barely saw the green orcish archer before an arrow was launched directly at him…

* * *

As soon as Harbinger heard the war cry, she slowed down the temporal space around her and began to navigate through the frozen human army. A single man, an extremely powerful paladin at the forefront of their formation, was staring at an arrow that was undoubtedly going to pierce the bridge of his nose as soon as she released the Timeway from her grasp. Harbinger reached for the arrow, contemplating how such a crude tool could ultimately lead to the entire destruction of Azeroth.

"Freezing time isn't as discreet as you think it is," came a high pitched, feminine voice from behind Harbinger. "If you were aiming for subtlety, you failed. Spectacularly."

"I could have accomplished this without freezing time, Chronormu," Harbinger commented without looking behind her. "But that wouldn't have pulled Nozdormu's most cherished and trusted agent away from Wyrmrest."

Chromie was silent for a moment before continuing. "You wanted my attention, Infinite. You have it." Harbinger turned around and smirked at the small little gnome that stood before her.

"You know the fate that befalls all of our kind, no?" Harbinger asked, earning no reaction from Chronormu. "The Infinite aren't a new race of dragons. We're the aged descendants. Just as we all once served Nozdormu, we all will one day serve Murozond. And we all look upon the moment where we initially changed allegiance with… admiration."

"And why, exactly, are you telling me this?" Chromie asked, appearing bored. Harbinger grinned as two Infinite Corruptors appeared on the two flanks of the small Bronze dragon.

"Because one day, Chronormu, you will look upon this day with admiration." Chromie attempted to retreat from the Corruptors, but they had ensnared her with bright silver beams of energy. "You knew this day was coming, Chronormu. You had to."

"Let… me… go!" the small gnome yelped as she struggled against the Corruptors.

Harbinger let out a cruel, sinister laugh. "The Bronze Dragonflight has forgotten the first rule of time! How ironic." Harbinger knelt down next to the struggling gnome with a wide, jagged tooth grin. She took the point of the arrow and ran it across the cheek of Chromie, breaking the skin. A golden ichor ran down her face, dripping onto the black rock that surrounded them. "Time is always borrowed, Chronormu. And the Infinite intends on collecting our dues." Harbinger stood back up and addressed the two Corruptors. "Take her to the Infinite Redoubt. Have Doramun and Zarion… integrate her. I must finish my duties here." They nodded, and just as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone.

Harbinger turned her attention back towards the arrow. "You will remember this day well, Chronormu. I certainly do." And with that, she snapped the arrow and melted into the shadows.

* * *

...and snapped cleanly in two. Darren was caught off guard as he was showered in splinters, but shook himself off and turned towards the army behind him. "AMBUSH!" Darren shouted in a bit of panic, though Lothar seemed unphased by the sudden arrival of the orcs. In fact, Lothar appeared to fixate on a single orc that was spearheading the attack. Darren faced the orcs with his hammer drawn, but a glint caught his attention from the corner of his eye. A small golden stain on the otherwise onyx stone was the culprit. Darren shook his head before turning once again towards the battle at hand. He stood alongside Turalyon as the orcish threat close in on them, the two of them unsure whether they'd make it out of this alive...


	2. Chapter One: The Lightbringer

Menethil Oathsworn

Chapter One: The Lightbringer

Lord Darren Artius returned from the frontlines alive, but disgruntled. The death of Anduin Lothar at the Battle of Blackrock Spire had inspired a rage-fueled genocidal war against the orcs within the paladin. Turalyon, who became the commander of the Alliance following the death of Lothar, was extremely put off by the actions of his counterpart. Whereas Turalyon waged a just war to protect the people of Lordaeron - a paladin's war - Lord Artius sought to make every orc pay in blood. As they pushed further southward, eventually liberating the ruins of Stormwind, Turalyon watched his companion grow ever more bloodthirsty. After several battles in which Darren's potent hatred of the orcs left his men unnecessarily wounded or dead, Turalyon had had enough. He would not be joining them on the Alliance Expedition into Draenor, a fact that greatly angered Darren. From this point onwards, Darren would view Turalyon's decision as the greatest betrayal. He reluctantly ventured northward, returning to Lordaeron heralded as a champion for his service.

But that was not enough. Darren's son, Loghain Artius, was approaching the age necessary to become a Knight of the Silver Hand. The aging paladin began drilling his eldest son relentlessly, training him for the trials and tests that would come with becoming a paladin. In order to ensure his legacy was truly worthy of his name, Darren used his influence within the Silver Hand to request that Uther the Lightbringer be the one to train Loghain. Uther, who was rather disdainful towards Darren, reluctantly agreed to train him alongside Prince Arthas Menethil and Faldren Agamand, another noble. It is here, in the midst of their training, that our story begins...

* * *

"Do… not… yield!" grunted the large, armor clad figure as he continued to swing his massive hammer with extreme precision at the young lad. The paladin's armor shone brightly under the sun, radiating light with an almost supernatural tone. The boy, with a short blade in one hand and a buckler shield in the other, was able to dodge most of his blows; without the incumbency of armor, his agility was far superior to that of his mentor. The hits that did land, however, were easily deflected with his small shield. His long brown hair, which might prove to be cumbersome to those not accustomed, flowed behind him as he continued to roll against the attacks.

The fight couldn't have been longer than five minutes, but constantly being on the defensive against a target that was simply stronger than him in many respects had taken it's toll on the young boy's endurance. He was getting slower and making more reckless decisions. The larger figure was able to fake left and swing his leg underneath his opponent's feet, causing him to trip up and fall. The boy did a quick roll to try and redeem the position he was in, but upon turning around, the larger warrior's hammer was directly in front of his face. "Dead," was all the warrior muttered before withdrawing his weapon and placing it on his back.

"Five minutes and twenty three seconds," came the bright voice of another young boy on the sidelines. Unlike the brown haired boy currently collapsed on the ground out of exhaustion, this young lad had long, flowing golden hair that gathered at his shoulders. "That's fifteen seconds longer than your last spar!"

"Not many can say they've held out against a paladin of the Silver Hand that long, Loghain," the large, armored man commented, though he was only slightly out of breath. "Your martial prowess has come a long way. Color me impressed."

"Thank you… Uther," the boy grunted while gasping for air.

"Only an Artius would thank someone for kicking their ass," the blonde boy teased. Uther turned towards him with a grin.

"I suppose you could do better, then, Arthas?" Uther asked the young prince. Immediately, Arthas recognized his mistake and silently shook his head. "Excellent. Now, lads, you must excuse me. I have some business to attend to with Sir Gavinrad. Have the rest of the hour to yourselves. I expect to see you boys at sermon tonight, though."

"Of course, sir!" Loghain shouted, leaping up to his feet. "Come on, Arthas!" The two boys immediately ran off to do… whatever it is young lads do. Uther couldn't help but smile as the two of them sprinted away, but his smile quickly faded as Gavinrad approached him.

"I only caught the end of the sparring match," he said softly as he walked towards Uther, "but I was impressed. Looks like he got a few hits in, too." Uther glanced down at his armor and noticed that there were indeed several marks where Loghain had mocked pierced his armor.

"Well, I'll be damned," Uther muttered as he ran his fingers over them. "The boy has an unprecedented skill with blades. But you didn't come here to talk about that."

"Unfortunately not," Gavinrad grunted, lowering his head. "Alonsus Faol and I were discussing the boy's admission into the Silver Hand. Faol believes that, while he has faith in the Light, the Light has little faith in _him_."

"The Light isn't particularly picky about who picks up arms in its name, Gavinrad," Uther pointed out, and the other paladin nodded.

"Which is why this is such a strange case. Usually, the Light is really receptive to those who want to use it for good. Faol has a few theories, but it's theological nonsense. I wanted to bring it up to you. You know the boy best."

"If you're questioning his intentions, I'm afraid I'm not going to justify that with an answer, Gavinrad," Uther growled. Gavinrad looked at him surprise and immediately shook his head.

"No, of course not. Loghain is pure of soul, that much we know. But there are… other reasons why Loghain would want to join the Silver Hand. Something that perhaps the Light isn't particularly fond of," Gavinrad explained quickly, dissolving the look of anger on Uther's face.

"You mean his father," Uther realized.

"Precisely. Loghain has been impressed into the service by Darren. Perhaps this is the Light's way of saying that he is not destined to be a paladin," Gavinrad continued, and Uther nodded in response.

"It is certainly possible, yes," Uther muttered. "The Light works in mysterious ways, though. Perhaps it has yet to champion Loghain for some other reason that we cannot see. I will continue his training, Gavinrad. Should he fail to develop an affinity for the Light, we can discuss that at his judging."

"My thoughts exactly, Uther," Gavinrad nodded. As the two conversed, they were completely unaware of the two shadowy forms that hovered just barely within listening distance...

* * *

"Your plan is already falling apart, _Harbinger_ ," Doramun hissed as they listened to the two paladins have their conversation. "It appears Loghain is not meant to be the paladin you desired him to be."

"Who said anything about becoming a paladin, Doramun?" Harbinger mused softly. "I said he would be a hero. And he will. Besides, we expected this." Her counterpart looked at her with a confused glance. "The Light is an entity that transcends time, Doramun. It has already picked its champions. Since we have disrupted the timeline, it makes sense that the Light would resist someone that hasn't been ordained as a champion of the Light."

"I never took you to be someone who read human… literature," Doramun said with a small laugh. Harbinger's smirk disappeared; it was not uncommon among the Infinite to view the mortal races as inferior.

"It's wise to understand all facets of human civilization, Doramun. Or all civilizations, for that matter," Harbinger replied in a darker tone. "After all, they are the ones who will save this world. And you'd best not insult them for their beliefs."

"And why's that, Harbinger?" Doramun growled.

"Because they'll come for you next." With that, Harbinger disappeared from their small perch near the two paladins, leaving the cynical infinite dragon to mull over her words.


	3. Chapter Two: A Question of Faith

Menethil Oathsworn

Chapter Two: A Question of Faith

" _Blessed by thy ancestors, I grant thee protection_ ," whispered Loghain as he hovered his hand over the trusty tome of a paladin. The book began to glow with a radiant white light, but it quickly died down. Loghain closed his eyes tight and focused. " _Blessed by thy ancestors, I grant thee protection_ ," he whispered again and, though the book shone brighter, it yielded the same result.

"Strange…" Arthas muttered as he watched his friend attempt to call the Light. "The Blessing of Kings is one of the most basic abilities of the paladin. It shouldn't be this difficult, especially for one a trainee as old as you."

"Gee, thanks," Loghain grunted as he closed the tome. "My trial is in a matter of _hours_ , Arthas. How am I going to pass if I can't even cast the Blessing of Kings?"

"I'm sure Uther has a solution to this, Loghain. He knows more about the Light than both of us," Arthas offered helpfully. Loghain nodded slowly. "It's worth a shot, at least, right?"

"I suppose," Loghain said thoughtfully. "I'll go see him now. Maybe there's just some link I'm missing or something." Arthas nodded and returned to his studies as Loghain got up and made his way towards the exit. As he traversed the ornate halls of the home of House Menethil, Loghain couldn't believe that he had gotten this far. Sure, his father had helped him, but the old man was more of a drunk these days than a sparring partner. And if he could take Uther on, he had no doubt that his father wouldn't be able to stop him.

He walked out of the castle keep and saw a familiar face. "Captain Falric!" Loghain shouted while flailing his hand in the air.

"Hey, kid," the ever vigilant captain replied, pulling off his helmet. "You on your way to your evaluation? I saw Uther join Faol and Gavinrad at the Cathedral moments ago."

"Not quite yet, I just have a few last minute questions for Uther," Loghain answered as he walked past Falric. "If I can figure it out, I'll be a member of the Silver Hand before the end of the day!"

"Well, good luck, lad. I'm sure you'll do fine. Give the folks my regards, and tell Ajilahd to stay out of trouble," Falric said with a grin. Loghain shook his head; Ajilahd was his younger brother who, unlike Loghain, did not receive the same treatment from his father. Loghain was slightly jealous of him, for some reason. He envied his brother's ability to choose what to do with his life. But Loghain couldn't complain; the life of a paladin certainly was exciting, that much is certain.

* * *

"The boy isn't paladin material," Faol grunted as the two paladins looked at him with annoyance. "He can't use the Light! It is as if the Light has deemed him _unworthy!"_

"Nonsense," Gavinrad interjected. "Alonsus, hear me out. A paladin is measured by his faith, is he not?"

"Of course. It is one of our central tenants," Faol replied offhandedly.

"Loghain is not lacking in faith, Archbishop. His faith is merely misplaced," Gavinrad continued, but he quickly stopped. "I would even argue that it isn't even misplaced, but that is a discussion for another day."

"Get on with it, Gavinrad," Uther sighed. He wasn't happy with the whole affair; for years, he trained Loghain to the best of his ability to be the best warrior of the light he could possibly become. He got the warrior part down. The Light? Not so much.

"Loghain places his faith not in the Light, but rather in his own ability to protect the innocent," Gavinrad explained carefully. "I believe that he cannot wield the Light because he does not _need_ the Light, if that makes any sense."

"A Paladin is not defined by their prowess in combat, Gavinrad, but rather by the unrelenting faith that burns in their heart. The sense of justice and retribution that flows through their veins guides them along the path of good. This sense is achieved through affinity with the Light," Faol interrupted, appearing bored. It seemed as if he has had this discussion before.

"But what if he has been instilled with that sense of justice and retribution since birth?" Gavinrad argued pointedly. "What if this is a different manifestation of the Light? Something that we cannot comprehend, but no less viable?"

"That would open the floodgates to our order, Gavinrad," Uther interjected. "We cannot confirm what you say of Loghain. I've worked for the boy for years, and even I cannot make a claim such as that."

"And why is that?"

"Because war changes people, Gavinrad. It warps your concept of reality and twists your thoughts. The Light counteracts this. It keeps us pure. Without it, there's no saying what would happen to Loghain without it to keep him in check," Uther replied earnestly. "I care for the lad, I truly do. And he is a very capable fighter. But that is not all paladins are."

"I see I am outnumbered, then," Gavinrad said with a resigned sigh. "Believe me when I say that we are letting go of a valuable asset. I would hate to see it squandered by _Darren_." With that, Gavinrad stormed out of the Cathedral, brushing past a rather frantic looking Loghain. "Oh, boy. What are you doing here? Your trial is not for several more hours."

"Sir Gavinrad!" Loghain exclaimed as he jumped to a salute. "I… I had some last minute questions for Uther before my trial."

"Of course," Gavinrad, trying to conceal his anger. "He is right through there, discussing matters with the Archbishop. I'm sure he'd be glad to talk things over with you." And with that, Gavinrad departed. Loghain was slightly confused, but approached Uther nonetheless.

"Uther, sir. Do you have a moment?" Loghain asked as he flipped through some of the pages of his tome.

"Loghain! Your trial isn't for several more hours. What can I do for you, lad?"

"I have some questions about the Blessing of Kings. I'm afraid I can't make it work, and I was wondering if there was something I was missing." Uther looked at Faol with a rather dreadful expression. "Is something wrong, Uther?"

"...sit down, Loghain. We have much to discuss."

* * *

"He has failed," Zarion whispered to Harbinger, who sat casually behind the Archbishop on his ornate throne. "This is the champion you foretold? A reject from the Silver Hand?"

"Hardly a reject, Zarion," Harbinger said as she watched the three humans talk. The small boy was slowly losing his composure as they discussed matters, but he was holding on tightly. It was… admirable. "Merely misunderstood. The Timeways are tossing him to and fro, unable to determine where to put him. Soon, things will settle down. And our hero will emerge."

"Harbinger, the human is sobbing," Zarion said almost gleefully. "Are you certain that he is the one you have predicted?"

"No. I feel like I'm repeating myself. Murozond was a fool to believe that he could manipulate the Timeways with brute force and achieve exact results," Harbinger explained as she got out of the chair. "Time ebbs and flows, Zarion. The main timestream is defined and can therefore be predicted. But changes to that timestream? It introduces unknowns."

"Then why do you have our Timewalkers writing out the future if you don't know what it will hold?" Zarion asked.

"Because having a prediction is far better than nothing at all," Harbinger replied as she walked around the three humans that were oblivious to their presence. "If they get a single thing right, that's one less unknown."

"Interesting…" Zarion muttered as she watched the smaller human break down.

"Quite." As she said this, Harbinger once again faded into the shadows, followed shortly by Zarion.


	4. Chapter Three: Demon in a Bottle

Menethil Oathsworn  
Chapter Three: Demon in a Bottle

Loghain lay there on the floor, his eye swelling at a rapid pace and turning a sickened shade of purple. Standing over him was a large and intimidating figure, the one responsible for the wound inflicted upon the young boy. "You… _worthless sack of shit!"_ The man shouted as he slammed the bottle in his hand on the floor. Liquid sin began to spread on the floor, growing ever closer to the wounded lad. Even from his position on the floor, Loghain could tell that the man reeked of whiskey.

"Father, I -" Loghain began, but his sentence was quickly cut off by a sharp kick to his ribs.

"You are _no son of mine!"_ Darren shouted as he leaned down towards the wounded boy. He grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and pulled him to his feet. "You have _desecrated the Artius family name!"_ Again, before Loghain could offer a response, Darren threw his fist at him with all of his strength. Despite his drunken squalor, Darren was still a formidable paladin. The impact immediately sent Loghain sprawling to the floor.

Loghain tried to pull himself up, and he noticed two spectators in the background. Ajilahd, his younger brother, as well as Cailin, the youngest of the three, were watching the event unfolding in sheer horror. They were terrified, and Loghain knew he needed to do something about it. "I desecrated it?" he whispered, spitting blood onto the floor. "At least I'm not the one who smells of piss and whiskey, _Father_."

"You little -" Before Darren could continue, Loghain used his low position to sweep the old drunk's legs out from under him. He dropped to the floor with a thud, groaning in pain. Loghain took the time to pull himself up.

"The only embarrassment here is you," Loghain whispered as he grabbed his old man by the collar of his tunic. "The Light didn't choose me, and I don't know why. But if it chooses people _like you_ , then I forsake it." He pushed him back down and turned towards Ajilahd and Cailin, who were cowering in the corner. "I'm leaving. But if he lays a hand on either of you…"

"Loghain…" Ajilahd whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Where will you go?"

"Where I'm needed." With that, Loghain left the coughing drunkard and his cherished siblings behind. For what, he didn't know. But even he could feel something change within him. It was almost as if he was issued a challenge. "When the Light fails to protect the innocent," he muttered to himself as he stepped out into the torrential Lordaeron rain, "I will be there to avenge the fallen."

* * *

Uther was awoken by the sound of pounding on his door. The paladin had some difficulty falling asleep, as he felt grimy after the discussion he had with Loghain earlier. Because of this, he was less than thrilled to be awoken at the break of dawn. He swung the door open to reveal Prince Arthas Menethil, newly appointed Paladin of the Silver Hand. "This is your fault," Arthas grunted as he pushed his way inside.

"Morning, Arthas," Uther said, his voice full of venom. "I'm fantastic, thanks for asking."

"Spare me," the Prince stated, his tone irritating the elder paladin. "Darren has just put in a request to strip Loghain of all his rights and privileges as a member of House Artius. Father has no choice but to accept it. According to Ajilahd, Darren assaulted him last night for failing to join the Silver Hand."

"I'm sorry, what?" Uther exclaimed, shaking his head in surprise. "Darren is out of his damn mind!"

"Loghain was more just and vigilant than all of us, Uther, and you know it," Arthas hissed. "And now he's gone. How the hell are we going to fix this?"

"He can't be far, Arthas," Uther assured him. "Hell, he's probably still in the Capital. He wouldn't leave Ajilahd and Cailin to weather the wrath of their drunken father alone. He's probably nearby. We find him and…"

"And? And what, Uther?" Arthas interjected. "Stripped of his titles and disowned by his family. He's worse than lowborn, Uther. What could we possibly do for him?"

"We can figure that out when we find him, Arthas," Uther said, silencing the prince. "Right now, we need to get to him before he does something he regrets."

"If he has… this is on you, Uther," Arthas grumbled. Uther didn't offer a response, primarily because he felt as if his pupil was right.

* * *

"Can I get you anything to drink?" the bartender asked as Loghain took a seat. The young warrior gazed at the wall of liquor in a trance of hatred. It was then that he promised himself that he would never succumb to the liquid poison that his father had consumed so willingly.

"Water," Loghain replied sharply, breaking his stare at the wide array of different alcohol provided by the tavern. The bartender nodded and pulled out a mug.

"Long day?" the older man commented as he poured the drink. Loghain silently nodded, and the bartender grunted. "You're far too young to be having those, boy."

"Let's call it the first of many," Loghain answered as he took the mug from the bartender. "Don't suppose you know of any job openings?"

"Unless you want to become a hired blade, I'm afraid I don't have anything worthy of mention," he said while accepting the coin offered by Loghain.

"I think I'm going to have to pass on-" Before he could finish, the door to the tavern swung open with a loud thud. Two Lordaeron Guardsmen walked towards the bar, and the bartender went to go serve them. He couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, but when they held up a piece of parchment, Loghain instinctively reached for the blade on his hip. The bartender looked at the parchment and then pointed directly at him. Immediately, Loghain stood up and pushed his stool out, making his way towards the exit.

"Hey." The word was loud enough to stop Loghain in his tracks. "Are you Loghain Artius?" the guardsmen on the left asked as he turned around slowly.

"'Fraid not," Loghain replied with a grin. The guards didn't find it amusing. "Hey, you can't fault me, gentlemen. Last I heard, I was stripped of my name."

"Then you've also heard you're wanted for the assault of Lord Darren Artius," the guard on the right said, this time him bearing the grin. Loghain's face contorted into a frown. "Yer old man is pressing charges, boy. And yer not a noble. So that means -"

"I'm quite aware of the implications, guardsmen," he interrupted, his knuckles turning white as his grip strengthened around the hilt of the blade on his hip. "Tell you what. I'm going to walk out that door. You'll forget you saw me. We'll call it a day."

The two guards looked at each other with a smirk on their faces. "I don't think so, lad," the left guardsmen said as he slowly approached Loghain. "Don't make this difficult. We'd hate to bring your father a corpse in chains."

"Believe me. You won't," the young warrior threatened as he drew his blade. Both of them drew theirs in response. Neither side seemed particularly inclined to make the first move. So, when the door to the tavern burst open once again, all three of them were slightly relieved.

"Stand down, guardsmen!" bellowed the commanding voice of Lord Uther the Lightbringer. It felt as if the very walls of the tavern were shaking. "Young Loghain here is to be taken into _my_ custody. Tell _Lord Darren_ that you will return empty handed. Am I understood?"

"Sir!" they both shouted, jumping to a salute before quickly dashing out of the tavern.

"Thank the Light you showed up when you did," Loghain sighed as he sheathed his sword. "The idea of incapacitating two members of the guard was not one I was particularly fond of."

"It'd be significantly harder to worm your way out of that," Uther nodded, placing a hand on Loghain's shoulder. "Look, boy, I'm sorry about -"

"Save it, Uther," Loghain interjected. "You have nothing to apologize for. The Light selects its champions. It appears as if I was not worthy. I can hardly pin that on you."

Uther shook his head. "You deserved so much better than what Darren placed on you, boy. Not being championed by the Light doesn't make you unworthy. Only drunken zealots like your father believe that nonsense." Uther cleared his throat. "But answer me this, Loghain. Why the hell are you in a tavern?"

"Looking for work," Loghain admitted sheepishly. "Figured this was the best place for a skilled lowborn combatant to find a way to make coin."

"Well, it's a sure fire way to get arrested, that's for sure," Uther replied with a hearty laugh. "Most of the sellswords that come out of here usually end up dead or in chains. Usually by me."

"Glad it didn't come to that," Loghain muttered softly. "So what now? Time to take me in chains to King Terenas?"

"No and yes," Uther continued. "The chains are unnecessary. But King Terenas would like to speak to you. Arthas has been working tirelessly since Ajilahd informed him of what transpired in order to return your status as nobility. I suppose we'll see the fruit of his efforts when we arrive at the castle."

"Why would Arthas give a damn about my title of nobility?" Loghain asked.

"You trained together. You were forged in the fires of combat, even if it was mock," Uther explained quickly. "I had to talk him out of removing Darren's throat after he told me what happened. I'm no expert, boy, but I'd wager that perhaps he _gives a damn_ about you."

Loghain silently nodded as he made his way towards the door. Uther followed closely in pursuit, and the two of them made a swift exit towards the center of Lordaeron.

* * *

"I wanted to see him fight," groaned Doramun, as the two of them left the tavern. Harbinger sat next to him, periodically taking sips of the human liquor. "Those two guards wouldn't have stood a chance against him."

"It's better that he didn't," Harbinger said in between sips. "It shows restraint and an appreciation for human life. I'd be more concerned if he went down the path of violence."

"Concerned? Perhaps. Amused? Undoubtedly," Doramun hissed as he licked his lips. "Though your prediction about Darren proved to be correct. In fact, his drunken stupor appears to be the primary… motivation behind our hero now."

"An unintended side effect," Harbinger mused as she swished the alcohol in her glass. "Though I suppose it helps that we can assure Loghain will remain sober in his travels. A drunk hero is useless to us."

* * *

Note: In case anyone is wondering, Loghain is 19 years old at this time, as is Arthas. Finding information on timelines is rather difficult, but the Third War is about 6 - 7 years away, I'd wager.


	5. Chapter Four: Second Chances

The Menethil Oathsworn

Chapter Four: Second Chances

 **A/N: Reuploaded to fix some of the spacing issues that didn't copy over very well. My apologies.**

Loghain followed Uther through the ornate halls of the keep, attempting to ignore the silent glares of hatred being hurtled his way by the guards who stood alert. "Shouldn't he be in chains?" one of them hissed as they walked passed, but Uther didn't dignify him with a response. Loghain looked away and refused to make eye contact; whatever his father had told King Terenas wasn't good.

As they approached the throne room, Uther paused and turned to the young warrior. "Listen to me, boy. Whatever happens in here, I'm on your side. I will see justice met. That's my job."

"You don't sound super confident," Loghain pointed out, and Uther shook his head.

"Nobility think themselves above the law, Loghain. In many respects, they are. It's tricky for me to pin one of them down, especially one as influential as Darren Artius." When Uther spoke his name, it was filled with venom and poison.

"What do you have against my father?" Loghain asked suddenly, taking Uther off guard. "I mean, besides this. You've never liked him. Why is that?"

Uther was silent as he stared at the young boy. "He has fallen from grace since his heroism in the Second War. Far enough that even the Light has abandoned him."

"What?" Loghain gasped in surprise. "How is that possible? The Light… can abandon its champions?"

"Only if they abandon it first," Uther muttered softly as he turned towards the doorway into the magnificent throne room of King Terenas Menethil. "Come, boy. We should not keep the king waiting."

* * *

"Humans and their foolish beliefs," growled Doramun, who had been lurking in the shadows during the conversation. Harbinger was much less obscure, pacing back and forth behind the two humans. "The Light got its use out of Darren. When he was no longer needed, the Light took back its power."

"That's… not entirely true," Harbinger said as she listened to the two of them talk. "The Light has been known to forsake its champions in a limited fashion. Generally through abuse. Using the Light to take the life of an innocent. Using it to coerce people. Torture them. It isn't entirely uncommon."

"You continue to defend the humans… why?" Doramun hissed, swiftly approaching Harbinger. "They are tools to be used against the Legion to preserve our world. Nothing more."

"That is what Murozond believed, and now, he is dead," Harbinger said with a smirk. "At the blade of a human, actually. I refuse to succumb to such notions, and I encourage you to do the same, lest our champion here turn his blade towards you."

"Is that a threat?" Doramun exclaimed in surprise.

"It's more of a promise, I'd say," Harbinger replied with a sinister grin. "And promises mean a lot more coming from someone who can predict the future."  
And with that, Doramun fell silent.

* * *

"Loghain Andorborne," King Terenas announced with a sigh. Loghain recoiled in shock when he recited his last name. Andorborne was the name of a lowborn from the Andorhal region. Seeing as how he was born there before the Artius family relocated to the capitol, it made sense that his name would be altered to that following the stripping of his titles. "I presume you are aware of the charges laid against you?"

"Yes, your majesty," Loghain muttered softly, seriously disheartened after hearing his name so utterly defiled.

"This is very serious, lad," Terenas leveled, looking at the young adult closely. "Assault charges against nobility is a one way ticket to the dungeons in these lands." He leaned back once more into his throne and turned towards Uther. "What say you, Lightbringer?"

"If you throw him in a cell, I'll break him out myself," Uther growled, catching Loghain off guard. No one had spoken to the king in such a manner before, though he had only seen Terenas in more regal situations.

"As a paragon of justice, your word holds much weight," Terenas continued, seemingly oblivious towards Uther's hostility. "So, too, does that of a witness. Ajilahd sought out Arthas as soon as you had left your home. He's a bright one, that boy. If he had not informed us of what had transpired at the Artius residence before your father… the word of nobility is hard to circumvent."

"Is… is Ajilahd alright?" Loghain asked quickly, his eyes turning towards Uther. "And Cailin? Are they okay?"

"Sir Gavinrad is with them, tending to your father's 'wounds,'" Uther replied with air quotes around the word wounds. "Gavinrad has reported that Darren suffered only a mild concussion from his head striking the floor. All other injuries claimed by Darren are simply a false accusation."

"I'm not concerned about _Darren_ ," Terenas interjected, waving his hand. "He's a drunken fool. His words hold very little weight in the House of Nobility as is, and after this, it would be a miracle if anyone took him seriously."

"Lying to the king under oath and assaulting children is illegal, _your majesty_ ," Uther pointed out. "Should he not be punished for his transgressions?"

"I cannot punish a noble for something this trivial, Uther," Terenas replied, leaning forward again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was clearly growing more irritated the more Uther pressed. "The House of Nobility will jump to his aid. An attack on his rights is an attack on theirs. We need to maintain his isolation from the House to ensure he is harmless."

"Then strip him of his titles!" Uther bellowed, his anger boiling over. Both Loghain and Terenas recoiled in shock as the paladin's rage suddenly burst forth. "Kick him off his high horse and see justice met!"

" _ENOUGH!_ " Terenas shouted, standing up from his position on the throne. "I have to run a _kingdom_ , Uther. I cannot unnecessarily cause issues with the House without a good reason!" Terenas looked towards Loghain with a frown. "As much as I hate to say it, one boy isn't enough."

"I understand, sir."

"Stripping Darren of his titles would additionally have the effect of stripping them from Ajilahd and Cailin. They are not old enough to inherit his titles yet, and if I were to imprison Darren, they would be in the same position as Loghain," Terenas continued. "And, with Cailin being scouted by the Kirin Tor and Ajilahd beginning his training under Sir Zeilik, I will not deny them the edge that their name grants them."

"Ajilahd is joining the Silver Hand?" Loghain asked, his face contorting in concern. "Is it because of-"

"Ajilahd has sought out training of his own accord, Loghain," Uther said, placing his hand on Loghain's shoulder. "Darren has had no influence over him. He told Arthas as much this morning."

"And I will not deny him that opportunity, Uther," Terenas continued, once again sitting down. As he did so, his son, Arthas Menethil entered the room with Captain Falric in tow. "Arthas? I thought you were with-"  
"She returned to Dalaran," Arthas replied quickly, glancing around the room nervously. "Something about focusing on… nevermind, that's not why I'm here. Captain Falric here has something he wants to say to you."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Falric asked, standing at a perfect salute. He was unmoving and uncompromising, and his stoic stance somehow made Loghain feel inspired.

"Permission granted, Falric."  
"Why the fuck is Darren not in a cell, sir?" Falric asked with a shit-eating grin. Terenas frowned at him, and Falric looked at Uther with a huge grin. Even the paladin couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't have time for this, Arthas," the king said, looking at his son, who was mirroring the grin offered by Falric. "What do you want?"

"I have an idea, and I ran it passed Falric. He liked it, said I should bring it to you," Arthas began, looking at Loghain with a confident nod. "You cannot get Loghain his titles back, correct?"

"Not without Darren's authorization, no," Terenas said.

"And there's no chance in hell that he'll be a member of the Silver Hand?" Arthas asked, turning towards Uther. The older paladin looked pained when presented the question.

"The trial already occurred. The verdict was reached. Those kinds of things can't be overturned outside of… extreme circumstances," Uther explained quietly.

"You pompous paladins wouldn't know talent if it smashed you in the face with a warhammer," Falric muttered. Loghain was so confused; it was as if these people were talking about him as if he weren't in the room.

"It's beyond my control, Falric…" Uther growled, but then he recomposed himself. "Why are you here? What's the point of all this?"

"If Loghain can't get his titles back, and the Silver Hand won't have him, then I want him," Falric explained, approaching the young warrior. "Haven't had an apprentice in years."

"You'd take a lowborn to be the apprentice of the Curator of Lordaeron?" Terenas asked, confused. Loghain was also confused, but for different reasons. What was a Curator?

"Unlike Sir Pompous over there, I don't give a damn about titles. All I care about is if he can use a damn sword," Falric continued, earning a glare from Uther. "So, tell me, Uther. Are the stories true? Can this kid use a weapon as well as Arthas claims?"

"He could probably best many of the Silver Hand in one on one combat based on skill alone," Uther admitted, causing Loghain to look at him in shock.

"Really?" Loghain asked, utterly bewildered by what was being said about him.

"It's settled, then," Falric interrupted, walking up to the young warrior. "I'll train him, Terenas. He'll be an officer by the end of winter, and a Curator before the end of the decade."

"What, exactly, is a Curator?" Loghain asked, earning a sneer from Falric.

"How much do you know about the structure of Lordaeron's defense?" Loghain simply shrugged, causing Falric to sigh. "Lordaeron is separated into four subregions: Lordaeron, Stratholme, Alterac, and Tyr's Hand. Each one has a Curator to oversee the defense of that region. The four of us answer only to King Terenas. Most of the time, we get self-autonomy, though."

Terenas looked at the four of us thoughtfully. "What do you think, Loghain?"

Loghain glanced at the king with a skeptical expression. "Do I really have much of a choice, sir?" Falric began bellowing with laughter.

"See to it that preparations are made, Falric. I'll approve it when you put it across my desk," Terenas replied with a small grin. "I expect much from you, Loghain. Do not forget those that were here to support you in your time of need."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

"That was… unexpected," admitted Doramun, who was watching the conversation intently. "But the point is moot, Harbinger. Loghain died in the Lordaeron Army when Arthas betrayed his father. Now, he is in the army once more."

"Truthfully, Doramun, this was not something that I foresaw," Harbinger said as she spectated thoughtfully. "But this is no less viable."

"How so?"

"When Loghain died, he was a simple guardsmen. He stood stalwart at the door to the throne room, and was killed by Falric and Marwyn when they accompanied Arthas to kill Terenas," Harbinger explained as the young warrior followed the captain out of the throne room. "Now, he is an officer. Who knows where he will be when the Third War begins."

"Your confidence is amusing," Doramun snorted. Harbinger frowned.

"And how goes the interrogation of our prisoner?" Harbinger asked.

Doramun's only response was to smile gleefully.


	6. Interlude: Seeds of Doubt

The Menethil Oathsworn

Interlude: Seeds of Doubt

 **A/N: I am unsure of the threshold for violence on FanFiction, so I'm prefacing this with a warning that a rather grotesque death or two do occur in this chapter. If that isn't your cup of tea, I'll put a brief synopsis at the end of all the major story points.**

She had seen it all. The Fall of Azeroth. The End of Time. The Burning Legion had prevailed, and nothing was left on Azeroth. The once vibrant, beautiful world was nothing more than an empty, charred husk. The bravest heroes of Azeroth marched upon the Tomb of Sargeras armed with ancient weapons of unknowable power, but they fell, one by one, to the might of the Legion. Their defeat at the Broken Shore had been horrifying to watch, but what came next was enough to drive anyone to madness.

"It is good to see you again, friends," Khadgar muttered as the battle scarred heroes gathered around him. Rubble surrounded the heroes, who were beleaguered and exhausted, in the seat of the human kingdom. "The last of the civilians are in the War Room. We have to hold until they can be evacuated."

"To where?" grunted an old dwarf. His armor was riddled with claw marks from imps that had attempted to pull him to his grave. "Ironforge fell last week. Our once great halls are nothing but a tomb. There's no refuge left."

"The Exodar," Khadgar revealed, earning a look of surprise from the heroes. "What is left of the Horde and the Alliance has rallied at the ship at Velen's request. He's going to take as many survivors as he can to search for help. It… is all we _can_ do…"

"We're _running_?!" hissed a leather garbed assassin. He pulled down his hood and looked at Khadgar with a fierce expression scrawled across his face. "We're _abandoning Azeroth?!_ "

" _We_ aren't," Khadgar replied, causing the rogue to close his mouth. "The Legion will continue their assault. We have to buy time for the-"

"We have a situation!" A female night elf huntress was positioned atop some rubble, aiming her bow down the hallway leading to the ruins of Stormwind. "Another ship just warped in! Reinforcements are inbound!"

"Hold the line!" Khadgar shouted, taking a quick swig from a waterskin to replenish what little mana he had left. "Whatever happens, heroes… it has been an honor fighting by your side all of these years. Let us ensure that it was not in vain!"

"Wrathguards coming up the-" the night elf didn't even get to finish her sentence. A massive blade protruded from her chest, and a brief shimmer revealed an invisible demon to be the wielder. The sentinel's eye glazed over as the multi-armed demon twisted the blade, ensuring that the elf would not survive the wound. Her corpse slid off of the bloodied blade, and the Shivarra grabbed it and threw it behind her, where a pack of fel hounds yelped with glee at the prospect of a new meal. Several more Shivarra revealed themselves, only to be met with the arcane fury of Khadgar.

"Duskfeather is down!" the rogue shouted as he deflected the multiple blades being thrusted towards him. As two massive swords came crashing down on him, he disappeared with a puff of smoke, appearing behind his target. He attempted a backstab, but his arms were grappled by a Wrathguard that came up from behind him. The Wrathguard gave him a sinister grin as three fel hounds approached the assassin. "Khadgar!"

"Tyrus…" the old mage's voice was full of sorrow.

" _Khadgar!"_ Desperation filled his voice as the hounds drew closer.

"I'm sorry, old friend…"

" _KHADGAR!"_ Screams filled the throne room as the fel hounds pounced, their teeth effortlessly ripping through his leather armor. Khadgar averted his eyes as the rogue was ripped limb from limb. Bone and sinew was tossed about as the hounds enjoyed their still squirming meal. The walls of the throne room were coated in a fresh spray of blood as they mercilessly tore his corpse apart.

"Looks like it's just us, old man," muttered the dwarven warrior as he cut down several Shivarra with a single swipe. The fel hounds attempted to swarm him, but the dwarf began spinning at impossible speeds, mincing them with his massive blade.

"They only need a few more seconds," Khadgar muttered as the last of his strength faded. "What do you say we go out with a bang, Lionhammer?"

"For Khaz Modan…" the dwarf said while nodding.

" _FOR AZEROTH!"_

The room erupted in a brilliant purple light, with everything being consumed by the sheer amount of raw energy released by Khadgar. When the dust settled, not even bones remained…

* * *

"The rest of the survivors have arrived. We have to leave," Anduin muttered as Velen looked upon the wounded with sad, tired eyes.

"I know how it feels to lose your home, young prince," the Prophet said softly. "I would know more so than anyone. I came to view Azeroth as a home in our stay here. And now it too has fallen to my own brethren."

"We will return one day, Velen. Azeroth will be ours once more. The Army of the Light-"

"Sir! Legion vessels have warped near our position! They've found us!" came the cries of the navigator. "We don't have any time to spare! I've ordered for our immediate departure!"

"Get us out of here, Navigator," Velen replied without looking up from the wounded.

* * *

"We've found the Exodar," hissed the demonic pilot of the Legion phaseship. Talgath smiled, revealing his gnarled, pointy fangs.

"Fantastic. Prepare the weapons. Do not let them escape."

"Of course, sir."

The small group of Legion ships that had been sent to find and kill the Prophet Velen began to charge their cannons.

"Open fire!" A brilliant volley of bright green plasma filled the sky, and every single shot hit their mark. The Exodar began to shudder as it attempted to jump dimensions, but under the continuous bombardment of the Fel Hammer, Talgath's flagship, it was unable to do so. "Kil'jaeden sends his regards, _Velen_ ," Talgath hissed.

A blinding purple and green light filled the sky, and pieces of the Exodar began to rain down upon the blighted landscape. The last hope for Azeroth had fallen. Not even the Prophet could have survived that.

* * *

"Wake up, you golden lizard," came a familiar voice from the darkness. Chronormu's eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, her face full of panic. She noticed that she was no longer in her gnomish guise, but rather in her rarely seen true dragon form. "Have some nice dreams, Chromie?"  
"Why…" she whispered weakly, tears streaming down her face.

"You'll have to speak up, Bronze," Zarion said with a sinister grin.

"Why did you show me that?" Chromie asked as she attempted to find the strength to stand. All she found, however, was bright silver chains that bound her to the floor. "Why did you show me that _nightmare_?"

"That was no nightmare, Chronormu," Harbinger interjected, approaching her prison. "That was the future that Nozdormu would have us fight for. Azeroth's bitter end. Not with a bang, but with a fizzle."

"Impossible… Nozdormu would never willingly lead us towards-"

"Once he found out himself, he abandoned the foolish directive of the Titans," Harbinger interrupted with a small grin. "This is why the Infinite exist. To bend time to our will so that we can prevent the end of all life on Azeroth."

"You… you're lying…" Chromie muttered, shivering on the cold, stone floor of the Infinite Redoubt. "He wouldn't…"

"You will see the truth. In time." Harbinger let out a sinister laugh as she walked away. Zarion, too, left her position by Chromie's side. The imprisoned Bronze Dragon felt a pang of doubt growing within her. And with it, dark patches slowly began to spread across her once brilliant, golden scales.

* * *

"And what are we to do with her once she has converted?" Doramun asked as they left the cells located within the Redoubt.

"What we all do when we convert," Harbinger replied as the metallic gates barred themselves behind her. "We will send her to work for Murozond. She will attempt to aid him in the Black Morass, the Escape from Durnholde, and the Culling of Stratholme. Then, we shall force her to stand witness to Murozond's demise."

"You would have her adopt the ideals of Murozond? The ideals that you constantly describe as foolish?" Zarion interjected, a mixture of confusion and anger contorting on her face.

"No. She will learn his faults and his arrogance and transcend them," Harbinger answered quickly. "She will see past his plans for the Infinite and go on to change them after he has died."

"And what purpose does that serve, Harbinger?" Doramun growled.

"She will go on to lead the Infinite to an age of glory and success. It is imperative that she undergo this… conditioning." Doramun looked to Zarion, who returned his confused expression.

"You would name her as your successor?"

"No." The Infinite dragon let out a sigh as she turned towards her two advisors. "She is Murozond's successor, you dense fools." With that, Harbinger left the two to ponder her words while she attempted to push back the memories of the horrifying images she had just subjected herself to.

* * *

 **A/N: If you wanted to avoid the violence, here's your synopsis.**

The assault on the Tomb of Sargeras failed, resulting in the Legion's victory over Azeroth's combined might. The remnants of the Horde and Alliance attempted to escape with Velen on the Exodar, but Talgath finally caught up to him and destroyed the ship before they could jump dimensions. The Army of the Light is dissolved after the death of Anduin Wrynn, who was supposed to lead them. The Legion has prevailed.

This was all a vision forced upon Chromie by the Infinite Dragonflight. This was the future that Nozdormu saw, which in turn caused him to turn into Murozond. They showed her the future to plant the seeds of doubt, and then agree to send her to work for Murozond in the past (as he is dead by now) in order to train her as an Infinite Dragon. When Zarion and Doramun questioned her motives, Harbinger revealed that she is Chromie post-corruption.


	7. Chapter Five: The Burdens of Leadership

The Menethil Oathsworn

Chapter Five: The Burdens of Leadership

 **Approximately Two Years Later**

"I've got eyes on our target," came the soft accented whisper from beside the young warrior. Loghain pulled out a scope of his own, though his wasn't attached to the long range Gilnean musket in his companion's hands. He peered through the glass, spotting a slow moving huddle of four figures. Their vision was compromised by the billowing snow, but their numbers matched the tracks they had been following. "I have the shot, Lieutenant."

"Hold fire until my mark, Sergeant," Loghain ordered, collapsing the scope and hooking it back onto his armor. "Axley wanted us to get information out of them before pulling the trigger."

"I thought that part was optional," the sergeant replied with a grin.

"We haven't exhausted all other possibilities, Rosencrav. Hold fire." Loghain pulled himself out of the snow and slid down the incline they were crouched upon. The blizzard was providing him with cover as he approached their targets. As he drew near, he noticed that only one of them was armed, and poorly at that. It looked as if he had two makeshift shivs and leather armor that had been cobbled together with scraps. The other three figures were hardly wearing warm clothing at all, and it was only now that Loghain noticed that one of them, a woman, was carrying a small bundle.

"How much further to Strahnbrad?" the woman asked weakly, her voice faltering in the wind. "I'm not sure we can keep this up for much longer."

"Assuming we lost those Lordaeron dogs, it should only be another hour or so," the armed man replied, pulling his scarf away from his mouth in order to speak clearly. "We should be safe there. My cousin runs an inn there, he'll put us up for a bit."

" _Orders, chief?"_ Rosencrav asked in a hushed voice through the technological contraption attached to Loghain's pauldron.

Loghain reached up to the device and pressed a small button on the side. "Wait for my signal. I'm going to do something probably stupid." Before Rosencrav could offer a reply, Loghain leapt from his position in front of the targets. "Hold!"

The armed man in front drew his two weapons and immediately jumped into a combat stance. His form was all wrong; Loghain would be able to wipe the floor with him if it came to blows. "Step aside, Lordaeron scum!"

"You are transgressing upon Lordaeron's sovereign territory. My orders were to kill on sight," Loghain replied, lowering his weapon as an attempt to extend the olive branch. "The people of Alterac are quarantined to the mountains under orders of Captain Marcus Axley. Turn back, or I will resort to force."

"We can't go back!" the woman cried as she held the small bundle of cloth tightly. "The bandits, they'll… they'll kill us!"

"Something is happening in the south," the third figure said. He pulled back his cloak, revealing a scar that ran down his left eye. "They're becoming organized. Someone's uniting the broken people of Alterac."

"You getting this, Rosencrav?" Loghain whispered quietly.

" _Yeah. It would explain the increasing amount of raiders attacking our patrols. We should bring them in, see what they know."_ Loghain nodded to himself as he turned once again towards the refugees.

"If you want into Lordaeron, it will be in my custody. Any information you have regarding these bandits will be handed over to us. After that, I'll see to any accommodations you might need." The armed man still refused to lower his weapons. "Put those away. You might poke your eye out."

"Why should I trust a Lordamere captain?" the man asked, a small growl emanating from his throat. Loghain couldn't help but smirk.

"Because I could easily best you in martial combat. Because I've got a sniper trained on you as we speak. And, most importantly, because you're freezing to death and out of options." Loghain turned his back on the silent thug and began to walk towards the base camp his squad had set up. "Coming?"

The armed man stood still, but a look of surprise spread across his face as the woman followed Loghain immediately. The other two men did as well, forcing him to let out a sigh and reluctantly sheathe his weapons.

"Scout ahead for us, Rosencrav. These people aren't doing too well. I want smooth sailing from here on out," Loghain ordered as he held down the radio button.

" _Yes, sir."_

* * *

"He thinks he can save them all. How quaint," Zarion said with a smirk as she shadowed the woman with her baby. "The young one is already fading. I doubt he will-" Before she could finish, Loghain stopped and pulled off his cloak. Without uttering a word, the noble warrior wrapped the fur cloak around the woman and her child, sparing them from the frigid winds. "And they say chivalry died with Lothar."

"He is young, Zarion," Harbinger replied, though she was clearly distracted by something. "His idealism has yet to give way to practicality. Though I wager that will come to pass when he witnesses his best friend burn this kingdom to the ground."

"Speaking of our noble prince, it appears as if he is having… difficulties," Zarion stated with a hint of humor pervasing her voice. "The sorceress appears to be… disinterested in him. A rather strange turn of events, no?"

"Schisms in the timeline were bound to show themselves sooner or later," Harbinger admitted. "It would have been foolish to assume that the changes would been isolated to our champion. Though how this has affected their relationship… very peculiar indeed."

* * *

"I ordered shoot to kill, and you brought me back _vagrants_ ," exclaimed Captain Marcus Axley. The older veteran had seen his fair share of combat, serving in both the First and Second Wars. However, constant warfare had addled his mind. Terenas couldn't strip him of his position and so, instead, sought to place him in the furthest corner he could find to keep him out of trouble. That meant Alterac - the Graveyard Shift. "Captain Falric said you followed orders to the letter," Axley grumbled quietly.

"No, Captain Falric said I followed _his_ orders to the letter. And he never ordered me to kill civilians. Sir." The contempt in his voice was detected by Axley, who turned towards the young soldier with a wild look in his eyes.

"Listen here, boy. I don't know _whose noble balls_ you fondled to get your position, but in the military, we have a chain of command for a _reason!"_ Axley exclaimed, spitting on Loghain's face in a spray of rage. Loghain winced, flinching as a result of the smell of whiskey permeating the air. "If you ever want to advance in the Lordaeron military, you need to learn discipline, boy. Something you lack."

"A true leader knows not only when to give orders or obey them, but also when to question them," Loghain replied, refusing to step down. "You would have me kill innocent people without cause. That is an order I will always refuse."

"Innocent?!" Axley roared in a fit of laughter. "The people of Alterac have been found guilty for supporting the Horde during the Second War! There isn't a single soul worth saving in these Light forsaken mountains."

"And the infant?" Loghain interjected, pointing to the bundled mass wrapped tightly in Loghain's cloak. "That child didn't exist during your war, Captain. And you would have me kill him too, no? Is that what Lordaeron stands for? The butchering of children?"

"Watch your tone with me, boy, or-"

"Or what? You'll strip me of my titles? You'll discharge me from service?" Loghain continued to push forward. "I know people like you, Axley. I can smell the booze on your breath. You're stuck in the glory days while the rest of the world moves on."

" _ENOUGH!"_ Axley shouted, slamming his fist on the command table beside them. "You think you have what it takes to lead, boy?! Tell me this! We have just enough supplies to feed our men! How will those vagabonds get their meals? At the expense of our men?"

"We can ration. A resupply is due in-"

"We're already rationing, Lieutenant! Unless you want a mutiny on your hands, that isn't an option! What about sleeping arrangements? We've barely got enough linen for the men we came in with! You're a damned fool, Loghain. You can't see passed your ideological lens and daddy issues!" Axley shouted, pushing Loghain back.

"Sir… I-" Loghain started, but Axley held up a hand.

"I don't want to hear whatever pathetic excuse you can muster, Lieutenant. I want you to deal with this. Get the information we need from those vagrants…" Axley then drew a combat knife from the sheathe on his breastplate and stabbed it into the wooden command table, "and then fix the mess you created."

"But-"

"Spare the child. If the next two words to come out of your mouth aren't, 'yes, sir,' then I'll order Rosencrav to sic Amarog on you. Unlike you, Rosencrav follows orders. And Amarog is hungry. Am I making myself clear, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."


	8. Chapter Six: Birth of a Hero

The Menethil Oathsworn

Chapter Six: Birth of a Hero

As Loghain Andorborne approached the small camp where the refugees were being held, Harbinger looked upon him with judgmental eyes. A twinge of worry permeated her expression, and it didn't go unnoticed by Zarion, who stood by her side. "You think he will kill them."

"I don't know what to think," Harbinger replied, her gaze unbreaking. "Loghain is placed in a difficult situation. If he does this, his soul is tainted with the blood of innocents. If he doesn't, he loses everything. He becomes a vagrant, a beggar on the streets."

"Perhaps our hero will find a way out of this mess he's gotten himself into," Zarion assured the Infinite leader. Harbinger nodded slowly, turning towards her advisor.

"Being a hero isn't a day job," Harbinger explained as she and Zarion followed the young warrior. "The truth is that there are only a few moments in one's life that define who they truly are. This is one of those moments. This is when Loghain discovers what kind of hero he is going to be." Zarion grunted in agreement, but offered little else in the way of assurance.

"He's going to spill innocent blood," Doramun interjected, appearing to Harbinger's left. Wispy shadows surrounded him, as he had just arrived from the Redoubt. "And I look forward to watching him do it."

"Have faith, Doramun," Zarion began, but it just made Doramun laugh.

"Nozdormu told us to have faith. And it cost us Azeroth." Harbinger ignored Doramun, choosing instead to focus on Loghain as he entered the small campsite and approached the refugees.

* * *

Loghain entered the small ring of tents, all of which surrounded a fire. He saw the woman holding her child, who was wrapped up in the cloak he had given her mere hours ago. The woman smiled, which caused nausea to spread through Loghain's stomach. He nodded towards her weakly and immediately turned around. Before he could get far, Rosencrav intercepted him. "Loghain, I can't let ye leave. Captain's orders."

"Rosencrav, they're innocent. Their only crime is trying to survive," Loghain pleaded, looking at his friend and the large wall of black fur by his side. Amarog, a massive dire wolf from Southern Silverpine, was as fearsome as he was loyal. The beast had been tamed by Rosencrav during his period of service with the Gilnean Army. After they decided to build the wall following the conclusion of the Second War, Rosencrav and Amarog were abandoned by their countrymen.

"I know, Lieutenant. And I got ye in this mess, so I'm gonna help ye get out it." Loghain gave a sigh of relief, but Rosencrav tensed up.

"What?"

"Ye just aren't gonna like the solution I've come up with," Rosencrav admitted as he drew a blade. "Tell me, how do ye feel about gettin' stabbed?"

"I tend to avoid it on principle," Loghain replied, backing up slightly. "What game are you playing, Gregor?"

"I'm saying the refugees are gonna escape. And Captain Axley isn't gonna believe ye unless ye've got somethin' to show for it," Rosencrav explained, handing the knife to Loghain. "Interrogate the refugees. Tell em to run. Stab yerself. Captain Axley will send me out to hunt em alone, and I'll ensure they get to Strahnbrad safely."

"...You're insane, Gregor," Loghain finally said with a grin. "But that might just work." Loghain gripped the hilt of the combat knife, his knuckles turning white.

"I'm surprised that yer game for this, Andorborne," Rosencrav retorted with a smirk strewn across his face. "Most Lordamere folk wouldn't take a blade fer these people."

"Most Gilnean folk wouldn't be caught dead outside that damned wall," Loghain replied, putting his hand on Rosencrav's shoulder. "I won't forget this, Gregor. You've done me and these people a service."

"Ye say that now, but ye haven't stabbed yerself yet," Rosencrav acknowledged, followed by a rough bellow of laughter. "I'll make sure they're safe. And for what it's worth, Axley is wrong about all this."

"I think there's some merit to what he's saying," Loghain interjected. "I acted without thinking of the consequences. As an officer, that gets people killed."

"Sometimes, there are consequences either way, Loghain. And there isn't gonna be a right choice. Woulda been a lot easier to save yer own hide." With that, Rosencrav returned to his post, and Loghain took a deep breath.

"Alright, Loghain. You've been stabbed before. It'll just be a flesh wound," Loghain muttered to himself as he entered the small camp once again. The leader of the refugees, the man who wielded the makeshift shiv, stood between Loghain and the nursing mother.

"Lieutenant Andorborne," the man said with a grin on his face. "What'd you do to get that title, boy?"

"I struck a Lordaeron Noble. Got off easy," Loghain replied, returning the mischievous grin. "Gather your friends. We've got a lot to discuss. Particularly about these organized bandits you described."

"Sarah, the Lieutenant would like to have words with us," the man called over. His demeanor changed slightly after he learned of the reasoning behind his last name. It was certainly less standoffish, that much was certain. "Can you get Daniel and Marquel?"

"Of course," the mother, Sarah, replied. She tucked herself back in and stood up to go find the other two refugees."

"I'm Lucius, by the way," the leader said, extending a hand. "I don't trust you Lordaeron folk, but, as much as I don't want to admit it, you did pull us out of a tough situation. You, at least, are worth trusting. For now."

"Glad to hear, Lucius." Loghain held his tongue; once he got the information he needed, he would inform them of the current situation. The two other men stepped out from their tent and into the snow, making their way towards their position by the fire. "When we found you, you all spoke of the bandits organizing. Is there someone they're calling a leader?"

"Aye. Lord Aiden Perenolde," Marquel offered. "They're calling themselves the Syndicate. A lot of us thought they were just rabble, but soon, anyone who didn't swear loyalty to that blasted traitor was hunted."

"It's how I got me scar," Daniel whispered softly, gesturing to the dark mark that ran down the left side of his face. Loghain noticed that his eye was glazed over; a fake. "When I refused to join their club, they took me eye."

"They're… recruiting, I suppose," Sarah said as she bounced her baby. "They're taking anyone who draws breath, whether they can hold a blade or no. When they tried to take Arin… Marquel here stopped them, and we fled the ruins of Alterac."

"Arin is just a baby, what could they possibly want with him?" Loghain asked the young mother.

"They're raising an army, Lieutenant," Lucius replied swiftly. "Anyone who can't wield a blade is to help those that can. Young Arin here might be a small child, but under the strict training and guidance of Perenolde, he'd have become a fierce soldier."

"You sound like you know a lot about this Syndicate," Loghain pointed out, and Lucius nodded solemnly.

"I've got no love for Perenolde. His actions brought down the wrath of Lordaeron upon our lands. Alterac deserved to be punished for colluding with the orcs, but the majority of the people were innocent. But Lordaeron sought to punish us all," Lucius explained quickly. "I was one of the first to join his Syndicate. He promised a fight for the people. To seek retribution for all the innocent lives Lordaeron ruined."

"When word spread that Perenolde was taking children and turning them into soldiers, a lot of people were up in arms about it," Marquel continued, placing a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Those that rebelled were killed. We left with Lucius in the middle of the massacre to find refuge. Then, you found us."

"Where are they based out of?" Loghain questioned, and Lucius grunted.

"Primarily in the ruins of Alterac, but they have a few other holdings. I know Perenolde sent a small group to reclaim the abandoned Durnholde Keep. There were rumors that the Syndicate was planning on expanding to the Arathi Highlands, but nothing concrete. For the time being, they're primarily localized to Alterac," Lucius answered.

"Is there anything else worthy of note?" Loghain pressed, trying to hide the urgency in his voice. "Armaments, allies, anything?"

"They're pretty ill equipped at the moment," Daniel said as he pulled his hood back over his face. "Most of their weapons come from old Alterac military caches that were hidden throughout the mountains."

"And one more thing. There were rumors of opposing forces to the south. I'm not sure who they are, but the name Ravenholdt was tossed around several times. It might be worth looking into, Lieutenant," Lucius offered. "Other than that, we have very little else to offer you."

"I thank you for your cooperation, everyone." Loghain drew the knife that Rosencrav had given him and laid it on the table. "And I'm sincerely sorry for all of this. Everything you've endured… and everything you will endure."

"What?" Sarah gasped as she looked at Loghain with terrified eyes. "You offered us protection! Shelter!"

"Aye. But my commanding officer made it very clear. No refugees." Loghain turned to Lucius, who had turned bright red in anger. "Lucius, you're not wrong. Most of the people in Lordaeron are right assholes. But I'm going to make this right. I have a plan."

"He told you to _kill us!_ " Lucius shouted, gesturing towards the knife. "How could you possibly make this right?!"

"Because I'm not going to kill you. When I try to take Arin from Sarah, you're going to grab the knife and shove it between this gap in my armor," Loghain explained, pointing at the weak spot in my armor. "I will survive, do not worry. You four will run. Don't look back. Strahnbrad isn't far from here."

"Why?" Marquel asked, grabbing Loghain's shoulder. "Why is your commander doing this? We haven't done anything wrong!"

"He is shortsighted and a fool," Loghain shot back. "He lacks the one thing a true protector of the innocent needs… honor. But I will not leave you to the elements. Do you remember Rosencrav and his companion, Amarog?"

"The Gilnean and his beast, yes," Lucius whispered, his anger having subsided.

"He is the only one capable of tracking you after you've fled. But he is on our side. When he finds you, he will guide you to Strahnbrad. Amarog will hunt and provide you with food. They will ensure that you arrive safely," Loghain explained quietly.

"And Rosencrav is… trustworthy?" Daniel asked.

"He was the one who came up with this plan," Loghain offered with a grin. "If it weren't for him, I would have been forced to kill you. And that… is obviously something I don't want to do. Else I wouldn't be taking a blade to see your freedom secured."

Lucius, who had managed to calm himself, nodded towards Loghain. "You've done what many cannot, Lieutenant. You've put aside your nationality. You've realized that you're a human first and from Lordaeron second."

"I fight for the innocent, Lucius. It just so happens that my interests align themselves with the Lordaeron Military. Most of the time, evidently," Loghain replied.

"You would've made a great Paladin, Loghain," Sarah whispered, pulling him into a hug. The words stung, though he couldn't fault her for saying them.

"No. I do not need the Light to know what is right and wrong. The only tool I need is my blade," Loghain said coldly, causing Sarah to recoil. "The Silver Hand is full of arrogant fools who think themselves above the law. I'll have none of it."

"Finally, someone else who _agrees!_ " Lucius exclaimed with a wide grin on his face.

"We need to do this quickly. Are you ready?" Loghain said, looking at the four of them.

"We travelled light," Marquel replied, nodding.

"Good luck everyone. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"That's worth a lot more than you think," Sarah whispered.

* * *

Captain Axley was watching from afar. The Lordaeron Standards blocked his view somewhat, but he had a decent idea of what was going on. He was confused when the woman hugged Lieutenant Andorborne, but he quickly recognized that it was a ruse to get close. As soon as he was in position, Loghain ripped the child from her grasp. Axley smiled; the boy was learning his place.

But his smile faded. One of the men that traveled with her pulled Loghain's combat knife from his sheathe while his arms were occupied with the child. Axley stood up sharply and whistled, catching Rosencrav's attention. "Stop them!"

Rosencrav, however, pretended to not hear him, placing a finger to his ear. "What was that, sir?"

"Gregor, you damned fool, stop them!" Axley bellowed, pointing at the scene unfolding. The man had plunged the knife into a gap in Loghain's armor. The Lieutenant dropped to the ground and roared in anger and pain. The woman snatched up her child and began running. Loghain grappled onto the man's leg, but all it did was ensure that he took a boot to the face. The four refugees fled into the forest, the trees covering their escape.

"I've got you, Lieutenant," Rosencrav muttered as Captain Axley approached. "Can't trust those from Alterac, eh?"

"Just pull the Light damned blade out, Gregor," Loghain grunted as he clutched his shoulder in agony. Axley turned to the rest of the camp, who had started to gather around to spectate the commotion.

"We need a medic over here!" Axley shouted, and instantly, three or four cloth-garbed individuals stood up and rushed over to his position. A woman, whom Axley recognized as Sergeant Korhali Invictus, began to recite from a tome she held at her side. The cleric, once the knife was removed from Loghain's shoulder, uttered words from a foreign tongue, closing the wound nearly instantly. "Gregor, your hesitation could have gotten Loghain killed!"

"I couldn't hear you, sir! I acted as soon as I knew what was going on," Rosencrav replied.

"We can handle Loghain's injuries, _Gilnean_. Go hunt them down! 'Bout time Amarog ate something other than our rations…" Axley muttered. When Rosencrav looked at the Captain, Axley roared. "Go! _NOW!_ "

* * *

 **A/N: Bit of a long one (the longest yet, I think), but a good indication of the kind of hero that Loghain will be. The only loyalty he has is to that of justice. Well, for now, at any rate.**


End file.
